Harry Potter and Dealing with Death
by Doc Kelley
Summary: The war is over. Harry lived but most everyone else is dead. Can one of his surviving friends help him return from the slow decent into madness


Harry Potter sat at his desk in the dreary one room flat he had been living in. He did not want to be found, so he stayed where none would look, at the Hogs Head pub. Aberforth was good enough to keep his word and not tell the order, or anyone else where he was. It was three weeks ago today, that Harry killed Voldemort, but the Daily Prophet still wasn't letting him be. The front page of today's prophet read in huge print "Where is Harry Potter?!" Harry hadn't been outside for 18 days, he didn't want to go out until he felt he could withstand the questions without breaking into tears. He surely wasn't there yet.

"I'm hungry," he muttered to himself. Wanting to be near people, he decided to eat in the bar downstairs. Dressing in a low brimmed hat and high collared black robes so that nobody would be able to see his face, Harry went down the rickety stairs and sidled into the last stool on the bar.

"Barman," Harry grunted, "Dinner and a pint of Ale." Harry spoke in a gravely voice that sounded little like his own. Though nobody could see his face, he didn't want anyone hearing his voice.

After barely a minute, his order was in front of him. Bangers, mash and steamed carrots. Harry ate quickly, he was very hungry. After finishing, he downed his ale, rapped the glass on the bar twice. He wanted another.

As night wore on, Harry got progressively more pissed. Thinking "this is going to be my last pint," he slammed the contents of his last ale. Just as he was about to stand, a man dressed in a similar fashion to his own sat and placed a glass of fire whiskey in front of him.

"You've been sittin' on your own all night. Thought I would join you for a drink."

"Sorry stranger," Harry said, forgetting to disguise his voice, "I don't want any company tonight."

"Well you can at least have a drink with me," the man said. He said it as though it were an order. Harry, wanting to avoid a scene, silently took his glass and sipped it.

Several minutes passed while the two sat in silence sipping their drinks. "I've been looking everywhere for you," the stranger whispered. At this, Harry whipped his wand out and pointed it at the strangers hart.

"Who are you?"

"An old friend."

"My friends are dead."

"I'm not, neither is Tonks, Remus, Arthur, or Fred. You know Remus is livid with you for not letting him know where you've been for the last three weeks. He's going spare."

"Who are you?" Harry said as he pushed his hat back so he could look his visitor full in the face, exposing his own. The stranger though didn't even turn his head towards Harry. He just sat looking strait across the bar, sipping on his fire whiskey.

"I think I miss them almost as much as you do." At this, this stranger's voice broke and he began sobbing. Somehow he was able to speak through his sobs, though he did it with a gasping and quavering voice. "I'm so sorry, so sorry Harry. I couldn't save them. I tried to, I swear I did Harry but I couldn't do anything." here the man paused, raised his hat and rubbed his eyes with his palms.

"Neville?" Seeing his friend in such a state was enough to bring him to tears. Harry stood and embraced his friend. They stood together in a brotherly embrace, unabashed by the tears streaming down their faces.

"I tried Harry, I really did."

"It's OK Neville." they released and looked each other in the face for the first time in weeks. "You know Neville, I am glad your not dead."

"Bloody hell!" Harry looked over his shoulder and saw that everyone at the bar was staring at them, open mouthed.

Seamus Finnegan, whom Harry didn't even know was at the pub lept from his seat, ran to Harry and brought him into a bone breaking hug. "Thank god mate. I figured you for dead. It feels damn good to be wrong." When Seamus let go and stepped away from him, Harry noticed everyone in the bar standing and moving closer to him, all wanting to shake his hand or some other bullshit. Harry did the only thing he could think of, he turned on the spot and apparated away.

Thanks for reading. Good bad or other, please review.


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